


Practice

by sixtysevenlmpala



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Bottom Dean, First Time, M/M, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teaching, Tumblr Prompt, Weecest, Weechesters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-06-13
Updated: 2013-06-13
Packaged: 2017-12-14 21:19:54
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,423
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sixtysevenlmpala/pseuds/sixtysevenlmpala
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for the anonymous prompt: "I need some weecest with bottom!Dean. Teaching his baby boy how to fuck a girl with his huge cock. Sam is 16-17 maybe?"<br/>He hears Sam swallow, a little gulping noise in his throat. “Are you… what, are you volunteering yourself for <i>practice?</i>”<br/>Originally posted on <a href="http://sixtysevenlmpala.tumblr.com/post/52151282351/dean-and-sam-help-each-other-out-sometimes-its">tumblr</a>.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Practice

Dean and Sam help each other out sometimes. It’s _not_ weird – Dean’s determined that it’s not. They move around a lot, and as awesome as girls are, girls can’t be there in every single time of need, can’t take care of adrenaline-fueled boners from wrestling practice or wake them up with sleepy blowjobs for that persistent morning wood.

Sam’s hopeless with girls, anyway. Can’t talk to them, and when he does he fumbles so much that they just end up calling him ‘adorable’ and ruffling his hair – like a puppy, not something they’d want to fuck. So it’s just _easier_ , okay, more convenient and less effort, if they just take care of each other instead of bothering.

(Neither of them mentions that girls positively flock to Dean, and that he could have his pick of the cream of the crop. Dean doesn’t acknowledge it because if he did, he’d have to acknowledge that he’s actually in this because everything with his sixteen-year-old kid brother feels lightyears away from anything a girl could ever do for him. He doesn’t know why Sam doesn’t bring it up, but he’s goddamn grateful.)

It’s a mutual, casual agreement; they give and they take, and it’s not weird. Dean’s taught Sam how to jerk him off just right, taught him how to swallow his dick over two-thirds of the way down, and he gives back everything that he gets and more.

That’s why Dean’s surprised at Sam’s reaction when he leans over the breakfast table on a John-less morning and says, “So, y’wanna learn how to fuck, Sammy?” and Sam promptly splutters his orange juice all over Dean.

“ _What_?” Sam splutters, wiping a hand over his mouth.

“Goddamn it, Sam.” Dean shakes his head like a dog, flicking orange droplets over his brother, and then looks down in disgust at his half-soaked t-shirt.

“Sorry,” Sam coughs, eyes watering a little, and Dean rolls his eyes and pushes his chair out, rounding the table to clap him on the back. “Seriously, though. Uh. What?”

Dean bends down at the waist, hands sliding from Sam’s shoulders to rest possessively over his chest as he hooks his chin over one shoulder, putting his lips to Sam’s ear. “Well, I’m just sayin’, Sammy. You gotta know how to fuck a girl good, don’t’cha? Need to know how to use that nice big cock of yours right.”

He hears Sam swallow, a little gulping noise in his throat. “Are you… what, are you volunteering yourself for _practice_?”

Dean shrugs. “That a problem?” he asks, turning his head to nuzzle at Sam’s neck, and Sam shudders.

“No. Fuck no,” Sam breathes. “Are—I mean, are you sure?” He turns and shifts on the chair so he can look at Dean properly. “You’re really gonna let me?” he asks, and his eyes are shining, his voice laced with eager hope and barely concealed hunger, dark and heated. Dean licks his lips subconsciously.

“Someone’s gotta,” he quips, but he drops a few octaves and it’s plain to hear in his tone – fuck, _too_ fucking obvious – that it’s not exactly a massive undertaking for him. Just thinking about it, knowing from experience just what Sammy’s packing and imagining what it’s gonna be like splitting him open, it gives him a nervous thrill that clouds his vision for a moment. But this is for Sammy, though – Dean doesn’t even sleep with guys. He hasn’t even thought about _that_ with anyone other than Sam. This is just to help him out, teach him how, let him practice.

Honest.

***

_Slam_ of Sam’s body up against the door of their shared bedroom some long hours later, quiet whimper from Sam as his breath leaves him. “C’mon then, kiddo,” Dean husks out, pressing himself up against him, sandwiching him between the hard heat of his body and the door he’s reaching around to lock. John’s out, but it’s an automatic precaution. “You have got it in you, right?” he teases, and Sam’s eyes narrow.

“I was actually thinkin’ about putting it in you,” Sam shoots back, grinning a little, and Dean laughs despite himself.

“That’s awful,” he groans, shaking his head. “Really. I should refuse to even touch your dick after that line.”

“We both know you wouldn’t be able to resist for too long,” Sam points out as Dean mouths at his neck, and, well, he can’t deny that, so he keeps quiet and moves to bite at Sam’s shoulder instead.

He’s grown so much recently that they’re pretty much eye-level, so Dean actually has to bow his head a fair amount in order to catch the skin above his collarbone and suck it between his teeth. It freaks him out a little – Sam’s almost seventeen and maturing every day, yet Dean still thinks of him as a chubby little kid sometimes.

Sam grunts out an impatient moan and thrusts his hard cock against Dean’s through their clothes. Dean’s struck momentarily by the size of it, this long, thick line of heat, and he’s pretty sure that after this he’s not gonna have any trouble thinking of Sam as the man he’s turning into.

“C’mon,” Dean mutters, and he grabs a fistful of Sam’s shirt, walking backwards and guiding them both over to Sam’s bed. They’re attached at the mouth the whole way there, even when they fall onto the mattress; and at the chest and the hip and the thigh, blending into one another until they’re so wrapped up in trying to crawl inside each other that Dean finds it almost painful to pull away. He looks up at Sam braced above him and says, “Clothes off.”

Sam’s only just home from school not ten minutes before, so he’s still fully dressed; Dean, on the other hand, had the house to himself and knew full well what was going to happen as soon as his brother walked through that door, so he’s clad only in boxers. He lies back, one arm behind his head and one hand idly rubbing over his bulge as he watches Sam struggle out of his clothes as quickly as is humanly possible.

As soon as he’s done, Sam strips Dean of his boxers so fast Dean’s unsure of how it even happens, and he laughs a little, surprised. “Dude, a little eager, aren’t’cha?”

Sam gives him a look that says, _yeah, obviously, jerk_ and wraps long fingers around Dean’s flushed cock, tugging him sure and certain and fast because he knows what he’s doing in that department, at least. Dean bites his lip and fucks up into his grip, writhing a little when Sam twists his wrist _just so_ , exactly the way Dean taught him. “Lube?” Sam asks, his voice a mite unsteady, but Dean doesn’t comment on it, just stretches an arm out to the bedside table they share, dips into the top drawer and produces a bottle as well as a foil packet.

“Here,” Dean mutters, reaching for Sam’s right hand. He squeezes out a generous amount of lube onto his own hand and slicks up Sam’s fingers for him, and Sam gets this soft look on his face, probably sees it as some tender, romantic gesture or something, the lacing of their fingers together. Dean sniffs. It’s totally not. “Okay,” he says, winks at Sam, “gonna get me ready, or what?”

Dean thinks he hears Sam whisper, “Jeez,” but he’s not sure – all he knows is Sam’s keeping himself held above Dean, eye-to-eye and watching every tiny movement of Dean’s face as Dean guides his hand down between them. Dean spreads his legs for him and Sam tentatively strokes one slick fingertip over Dean’s hole.

“Go on,” Dean urges, nodding fiercely at Sam, and Sam lets out a shaky breath and pushes, one of those long fingers opening him up and not relenting until it can’t go any further. “Yeah,” Dean breathes, eyelids fluttering, “you can—c’mon, with two, Sam. I can take two.”

Sam’s eyebrows fly up his head and he asks, “Do you do this a lot?”

“Not a lot,” Dean grunts, avoiding his eyes. “Sometimes. To myself. Gets me off, so, whatever.”

He rolls his hips down insistently onto Sam’s finger, and Sam obediently begins to slip another inside, inching further into Dean alongside the first. “How d’ _you_ do it?” Sam asks, and his tone is pure curiosity, like he just wants to know so he can make this good, make Dean feel good, but the question still leaves Dean hot all over, prickly under his skin, and he can feel his cheeks burning as he answers.

“Hard.”

Sam bites his lip, an anxious look flitting across his face like he doesn’t want to play rough, doesn’t want to hurt Dean, but he obviously doesn’t think too much of it because the next thing Dean knows, he’s slamming those two fingers right up inside of him, fast and forceful. Dean gasps, caught off guard, and no sooner has Sam buried his fingers inside is he setting a quick rhythm of slightly clumsy thrusts, the unpractised spread of his fingers sparking a burn and making Dean hiss a little. It’s a little rougher than he’s used to, even, because despite the lube, Sam’s inexperienced with this – but Jesus if Dean’s cock isn’t throbbing already, because it’s his baby brother and he gets this for the first time _ever_. Sam’s got that earnest look in his puppy-dog eyes, and he asks hopefully, “Like this?”

“Yeah,” Dean chokes out, and Sam immediately breaks out into a delighted, relieved smile and adds a third. Dean moans through the pain of it – too much too fast God Jesus Christ Sam so good Sam Sam Sam – and clutches at Sam’s shoulders, gritting his teeth to try and keep the goddamn slutty noises he wants to make at bay. “Yeah, God, just like that, Sam. Stretch me out.”

Dean loses track of the time as Sam fucks him with his fingers, his thrusts becoming slightly less choppy as the minutes melt by. It’s still far from finesse and it’s still hard like Dean asked for, but Dean gathers he must be learning something from Dean’s reactions to a jab there or a twist of his fingers there; he’s watching his face intently enough.

He’s grinding his cock into Dean’s thigh with a complete needy lack of control, and eventually Dean huffs out, “Sam. C’mon and do it already. Don’t—don’t tease, goddamn.”

“Don’t girls like that?” Sam mumbles, half-serious, and Dean blinks because he’d forgotten momentarily that this was even about girls.

“Girls do, usually,” Dean grunts, “I don’t.”

Sam laughs quietly, nods and backs up a little, sitting back so he can watch as he draws his fingers out. It’s a little too quick, a pull that’s just this side of too sharp and too sudden, and Dean lets out a whine he didn’t know he was capable of, biting his cheek straight after because he wants to keep going. Sam mumbles, “Sorry,” and Dean shakes his head and reaches for the condom.

“Just c’mere,” he tells him, ripping the packet with his teeth as Sam shuffles forward, knees bracketing Dean’s chest as Dean rolls the latex over him.

“Do we really need…?” Sam asks softly, and Dean almost knew he would.

“Not gettin’ you into any bad habits, Sammy,” he replies firmly, decidedly _not_ thinking about the countless other people Sam’s bound to use them with because he’s not supposed to care about that, not supposed to wish it was only him. He smirks to cover up the brief melancholy flicker and quips, “Don’t wanna knock me up, right?”

Sam rolls his eyes. “You’re an idiot.”

“So fuck some sense into me, then.”

Sam gulps; it’s audible in the room and Dean watches his Adam’s apple bob in the skinny column of his throat. With no more words and a single, lingering look that smoulders between the two of them for longer than it should, Sam moves to position himself between Dean’s wide-spread thighs, one hand curled tight around the base of his cock. “How do I—“

“Slow,” Dean tells him, voice breathier than he intended, “just give it to me nice an’ slow, Sam.”

Sam gives a determined nod and then there’s the blunt press of the head of his cock at Dean’s hole, and Dean can’t help the way his breath catches because god _damn_ his baby brother’s packing some heat. It feels even bigger than when he’s got his fingers or his mouth wrapped around it, and he squeezes his eyes shut at the exact moment that Sam lets out an overwhelmed moan and stutters his hips forward, shoving the first couple of inches inside all at once.

“ _Shit_ ,” Dean bites out, fingers grasping at the bedsheets. “I said _slow_ , you fuckin’ _ass_.”

“M’sorry,” Sam breathes, face flushed and eyes trained on where their bodies are joined.

Dean groans, “Just keep goin’,” and Sam does as he’s told, this time a constant but slow pressure that seems to go on for an age, Dean’s eyes rolling back into his head as Sammy’s cock splits him open, stretches him around that thick girth more than his fingers ever could. Finally, Sam bottoms out, and Dean lets out a rush of breath. “Jesus, kid, really got a— _fuck—“_ as Sam instinctively grinds a little deeper, “—goddamn weapon of m-mass destruction there.”

Sam laughs, but his eyebrows are knitted together and his face is all concern. “Is it—are you okay?”

“Peachy,” Dean snaps, “just. Wait a second, yeah?”

He lets himself take a few breaths when Sam nods, and his eyes are closed when he hears a quiet, uncertain question. “Can I kiss you?”

Dean opens his eyes, sputters, “Yeah, Sam, ‘course. Don’t have to freakin’ ask, jeez,” and reaches up to curl a hand around Sam’s neck, pulls him down. The movement nudges Sam’s cock further inside of him and he moans into the kiss, Sam whimpering in reply and his hips shaking with the effort of holding back, but for all that’s going on it’s surprisingly tender; all soft lips and careful, sweet brushes of Sam’s tongue into his mouth. It distracts him from the pain in his ass until it’s dulled down to a distant, almost pleasant ache, definitely nothing Dean can’t handle – so he breaks away long enough to tell Sam, “Alright, you can move.”

He’s already _been_ moving, really, little shifts of his hips that he probably couldn’t help, but as soon as the words are out of Dean’s mouth Sam moans in relief, straightening up so he has better leverage to pull back and slide home again. Dean suppresses the urge to reach for him and keep him there, close and tangled up in each other; instead grabs hold of the pillow with both of his hands, gasping as Sam starts to fuck him with unsure, off-kilter thrusts. His hands are fluttering in the air a little, as if he doesn’t know what to do with them, and Dean grins breathlessly and grasps them both, planting them firmly around his own drawn-up thighs.

There’s a question in Sam’s eyes, and Dean answers it for him, says, “S’okay, Sam, s’good,” as he rolls his hips, trying to get him to fall into some kind of rhythm. “Jus’ follow me, okay?” he murmurs softly, and his cock twitches as Sam’s tongue darts out to lick at his lips in concentration, fingers digging into the meat of Dean’s thighs. After a minute or so he settles into a measured, somewhat steady rhythm, Dean meeting him on every thrust. “That’s it, Sam. That’s real good.”

His hands are shaking, though, Dean can feel it where he’s gripping his thighs – holding tight enough to flush the skin around his fingers pure white, and Dean wonders with a shudder if there’s going to be bruises tomorrow – and when he grits out, “I-I can’t,” Dean gets it.

“S’okay,” he says again, looking up at him with blown-dark eyes. “Go for it, Sammy, m’not gonna break.” Sam moans and the next forward jolt of his hips is hard enough to push something akin to a whimper out of Dean’s mouth, head of his cock scraping white-hot along his insides. “God,” Dean groans, “yeah, fuck me like that, knew you could,” and a small portion of his brain is yelling at him not to encourage Sam to be so rough, _most girls won’t like it, only if a girl asks for it that way, gotta be careful with ‘em,_ because this isn’t meant to be for him. It’s meant to be for Sam, to _teach_ him – it’s meant to be about girls, that’s what made any of this okay in Dean’s fucked-up, irrational head.

Sam’s hips are slapping wildly against his ass, his cock pumping into him again and again and Dean’s moaning for it, babbling filth and encouragement and writhing on the bed as Sam spreads his legs wider, fucks in deeper, and – yeah. Maybe it’s never been about girls.

“God, Jesus fuck – doin’ so good, Sam, you’re so fuckin’ good, baby,” Dean spills out, and the praise only makes Sam whimper, slam into him even harder than before, so Dean keeps going, his gaze fixed on Sam; the delicate flush that starts at his cheeks and blooms right down to his chest, the locks of hair hanging down into his eyes as he drops his head to watch his cock disappear into Dean. “Feel s-so good in me, fuck. Got such a nice cock, Sam, so big and pretty – fill me up just right – never wanted this from anyone but you, Sammy—“

“ _Dean_ ,” Sam whines, his rhythm faltering and falling into something more erratic, more primal. “I’m gonna, I can’t, I’m sorry,” and Dean only tightens around him and urges him on, one hand flying over his own cock because he guesses they can work on multitasking another time.

“S’okay, kiddo,” Dean grunts out, “just let it go,” and Sam cries out his name once more, muscles in his lean stomach jumping as he shoves in deep and stills, hips rocking tight against Dean’s ass as he rides out his high, grinding into him like he could get any further than he already is.

Dean could swear he can _feel_ Sam’s cock pulsing inside him, feel him filling up the condom, and that’s pretty much enough for him, fist stripping his cock lightning-fast as he comes with _Sammy_ on his lips. Sam’s whole body is trembling, but he holds himself up, braced above Dean so as not to collapse on him, and Dean’s heart clenches dangerously. “Can I—I’m gonna, uh,” Sam mumbles, looking down between them, and Dean grimaces, already oversensitive even while the aftershocks are still thrumming through his system.

“Just—do it slow.”

Sam nods and eases himself out of Dean, who winces and hisses through his teeth despite his pride.

“I said _slow_ ,” Dean gripes for the second time this evening, thwacking Sam around the back of the head. “Do we need to teach you what that word means? Jesus.”

“Sorry,” Sam mutters, leaning down and tentatively kissing Dean’s cheek, and Dean rolls his eyes.

“You’re such a girl. S’fine.”

Sam gives a half-smile and rolls off of Dean to collapse next to him. Dean looks over at him to notice that he’s avoiding his eyes, and the tips of his ears are glowing red, the way they always do when he feels embarrassed.

“Hey,” Dean murmurs, nudging him and trying to disguise the worry in his voice. “You okay?”

Sam glances over and shrugs, arms crossed self-consciously over his middle. “I just…” he trails off, but Dean only raises an eyebrow and waits. Sam sighs. “It was… a little… y’know. Fast.” His whole face is flushed pink, now, and Dean smirks.

“Yeah. More than a little,” he agrees with a snort of laughter, but when Sam scowls and looks away again, he rolls onto his side so he’s pressed up against his brother, and speaks directly into his ear. “But, hey. Y’wanna work on your stamina, Sammy, I’m pretty sure I can help with that.”

Sam turns to him and gives him a smirk that could pass for one of Dean’s very own. “For the girls, right?” he asks softly, a strong, knowing challenge glittering in his eyes.

Dean stares at him, heart stopping, mouth opening and closing with no words coming out. “Uh-huh,” he nods eventually, a cheeky grin unfolding on his face, “totally for the girls.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading, feel free to leave a comment/kudos if you liked!


End file.
